The Playground

The chubby boy points his toy gun at another boy
His great grandfather fought in the war.
This is not a guess. I am sure.
His great grandmother was maybe a comfort lady to the invaders.

But his gun is only made of plastic. He will be forgotten.

I look at the boys.
I see an army of deserters, an anarchist army.
They charge at the playground castle
that is always taken and held at the same time.

The Playground was originally published on Meandering home


Published by

Kamiel Choi

Dutch philosopher and poet, sometimes sharing thoughts on the internet.

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